


Perfect Blue

by dasedandconfuzed



Series: Learning Curve [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, and yuuri honestly just can't understand why viktor is such a tourist, beijing, post-Episode 7, wherein Viktor is that foreigner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9686183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasedandconfuzed/pseuds/dasedandconfuzed
Summary: Contrary to expectation, Phichit Chulanont, ice skating's most media-savvy figure, wasn't the person who confirmed Viktuuri. No, the honor goes to a Chinese seamstress dragged out of bed at 3 a.m. by a foreigner with too much money. And Katsuki Yuuri himself, who just wanted revenge for his blue tie (may it rest in peace).





	

* * *

 

 

It began the day after they landed in Beijing.

 

“The moon is bright, we're young, let’s get food!” Viktor had declared, whisking Yuuri away. Viktor had been silent about the final destination and Yuuri indulged him, though he suspected they would re-emerge in Wangfujing. Viktor was proudly a sucker for all the tourist traps which Yuuri, born and raised in a city where hoodwinking foreigners was both the local sport and primary source of revenue, despised. 

 

(Papa and Mama Katsuki, armed with their doe-eyed, semi-famous son, were the undisputed champs of conning tourists.)

 

Then they re-emerged in a brightly-lit square and Viktor had guided Yuuri through a haphazard pathway of dark, narrow alleys to a lake. There were lights strung everywhere and the moon was reflected so perfectly on a rippling water. There was laughter and music everywhere, from the lantern-lit streets of bars and restaurants surrounding the lake, to the ornate boats gliding on the water, teeming with groups of teenagers trying to race each other, or couples experiencing the thrill of a new night. It was still a tourist trap, but a beautiful one. 

 

The only issue was the scent of liquor and fried food in the air. It was calling to Yuuri, screaming at him to forget the competition and his career. Yuuri turned back to say just that to Viktor, to perhaps rally Coach Viktor to his defense. Yuuri glared. The temptress was Viktor, smelling of beer and holding skewers of food. Greasy, fatty food. A devastating tableau of everything Yuuri couldn’t have. 

 

“Don’t you want to indulge, Yuuri?” 

 

Yuuri breathed in and breathed out until he overcame the base urge screaming to accept. Then Viktor nudged him with the soft tip of the skewer and Yuuri repeated the process until he was certain he overcame the baser urge to hit The Tempter.

 

“No. The short program is in two days.”

 

Viktor shrugged and bit the meat off the second skewer.

 

How quickly desire could be replaced with irritation. 

 

Yuuri shook away the feeling and then blinked, dazed, as he saw a selfie stick enter his peripheral vision and—.

 

“Huh,” Viktor said, throwing away the skewer. It fell in a perfect arc to a trash bin Yuuri hadn’t noticed. They both glanced behind Viktor to a man smiling over his camera. “That’s real talent. But I could have signed something, too, had they asked for the photo.”

 

“He doesn’t want your autograph.”

 

“Hm? What’s the point of the photo then? How do you definitively prove that you met me?”

 

“They don’t know who you are. It’s because you’re a foreigner. A white one. Blonde. Attractive, too,” Yuuri said. Viktor smiled at the last bit and Yuuri reddened. He spun around quickly, searching, until he located a foreigner with flaming red hair, taking a photo with a local. “Over there. See? Just like you.” 

 

“I see perfectly, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri turned, only to be distracted by the shutter of a camera. Viktor was handing a toddler back to their grandfather and the old man looked lost in thought as he held the child’s hand.

 

“You look familiar,” the man said after several rounds of beard stroking.

 

“Yes?” Viktor said.

 

“Ah, yes, Barney!” The man then pointed to Viktor, resplendent in a suit—why Viktor decided to take Yuuri here dressed to the nines was incomprehensible—and laughed before he screamed, “Suit up!”

 

There were no crickets chirping, the area was too loud for that bit of comedic nuance.

 

“Suit up!” the child repeated. 

 

“Yes,” Viktor said, recovered and fully in superstar mode, “yes, _exactly!_ ”

 

They chatted for a few more minutes and Yuuri hung back, sympathizing with the confused expression on the child’s face.

 

When they left, Viktor looked after them, tapping his finger against his mouth. “Suit up,” he repeated.

 

But Yuuri had no time to ask what was so interesting about the phrase, because a vendor selling light-up rabbit ear headbands passed by and Viktor ran after it, intent on being conned out of his money.

 

Yuuri sighed and forgot all about suits and phrases and stealth photographs.

 

He shouldn’t have.

 

* * *

 

The day after the competition, Viktor had reached over and shoved Yuuri awake. “We need to do one last thing,” he had proclaimed.

 

 _Avoid the reporters?_ Yuuri had thought in that half-space between sleep and wakefulness. _Avoid social media?_

 

Yuuri said none of these things. The base instinct to groan, roll over, and fall back into sleep gripped him, so he did precisely that. 

 

“No, Yuuri, this is important.”

 

The tone of Viktor’s voice was shaded too darkly for Yuuri to succumb to sleep, so he climbed out of bed and into the bathroom. Thirty minutes later, Yuuri was squinting up at a building, trying to puzzle together a meaning out of the gold Mandarin characters rising from the top. Viktor beckoned him forward, though, pulling aside the slats of thick plastic in front of the entrance. Yuuri sighed, realizing what his sleep-addled brain couldn't recognize.

 

_I should have expected this._

 

He thought this again when Viktor pulled Yuuri to the escalators. And again when they reached the top and Viktor maneuvered Yuuri through a maze of stalls—the majority closed—and deposited him in front of someone with an artificial smile. “I was paid extravagant amounts of money to be awake at this hour,” Yuuri read from her face, “don’t you dare ruin this financial transaction by refusing whatever your rich friend paid for.”

 

 _I should have expected this,_ Yuuri thought once more, trapped as he was between rolls and rolls of fabric. There were clothing materials strewn along the tables behind the seamstress—buttons and zippers, patches of fabric samples, sketches of designs. Yuuri let himself be poked and prodded, for the seamstress’s sake more than Viktor’s. But in the middle of her jotting down the measurement of his waist, Viktor stepped closer to give Yuuri the once-over and frowned. She frowned, too. 

 

 _I did not gain weight,_ Yuuri thought, furious and ashamed, _they cannot be frowning because I gained weight_.

 

There was a moment where Viktor and the seamstress looked at each other. “You need to make sure it’s the exact measurements,” Viktor said. She said something in rapid Mandarin, gesturing at Yuuri, and then gesturing back to herself, skimming her fingers from the backs of her thighs up. It was so fast Yuuri couldn’t even pretend to understand what she was saying or conveying—but Viktor threw her a thumbs up sign. 

 

“You speak Mandarin, now?” Yuuri asked.

 

Viktor leaned against a wall. “Yuu~ri~,” he pronounced, “wasn’t it in an American song? Don’t need to speak the language. Your booty needs no explaining.”

 

“What do you mean by—?”

 

Yuuri shrieked and leapt into the air when the woman wrapped her measuring tape tight around his butt. 

 

“Double check, please,” Viktor said.

 

Yuuri didn’t shriek and leap into the air the section time, but he glared up at Viktor, who was watching the entire debacle with amusement.

 

“Oh Yuuri, have you never gotten a suit tailored before? Has Celestino never explained its the only way to own a suit?”

 

“This has nothing to do with skating.”

 

“But this has everything to do with publicity. How else can you attract the big endorsement money without showing off how you look in a suit?”

 

Viktor said this all rote, not even glancing at him. In fact, he was crouched on the ground next to the crouched seamstress and they were both marveling at Yuuri’s thighs.

 

“I have a suit,” Yuuri said.

 

“If it’s not tailored to you it’s not a suit. It’s just fabric with misguided aspirations.” 

 

“Is this even practical? We’re leaving tomorrow, we’ll have to hang around here all day just so she can rush sew something for me to try on. There won't be a final fitting. And she'll have to ship this to wherever we are.”

 

“But you’ll need to wear a suit for the rest of your events. In Russia, especially, you’re my first student, you’ll have to win over the locals.”

 

“I have a suit,”

 

“Had.”

 

“I _have_ a suit.”

 

Viktor said nothing.

 

 _Breathe in, breathe out. This man is your coach, Yuuri, you cannot murder him_.

 

“And the tie,” Yuuri said, holding Viktor's gaze and remembering the perfect blue of his perfect tie. “What did you do with the tie?”

 

Viktor smiled wider.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri left Viktor behind in a huff.

 

He went outside to eat something and watched from inside a small restaurant as the area roused to life. When the gnawing irritation lifted, Yuuri wandered back into the complex, lingering at the few stalls that sold ties.

 

“Dammit,” Yuuri said aloud for the dozenth time. There was a color palette of ties laid out in front of him, but none of the shades of blue were correct. 

 

 _Not blue,_ his mind whispered, _black. Ashes. Because Viktor burned it._

 

“Fuck.”

 

“It’s not good to curse.”

 

Yuuri didn’t jump in the air at the sound of Viktor’s voice, he had grown used to that, but he willed himself still when Viktor wrapped cool fingers around his wrist. Yuuri turned around. “Dammit, fuck, shit,” he said in Japanese, “no one understands me now.”

 

Viktor tsked. There was a clear plastic bag dangling from his other hand. It whacked Yuuri gently when Viktor moved to brush hair out of Yuuri’s eyes. “That’s especially rude.”

 

“Tell me, what’s that Russian you mutter whenever we pass by the ramen cook’s son?”

 

Viktor smiled. A nearby woman shuddered and ducked back into a shop. 

 

“That’s different.” Viktor held the smile long enough for a shopkeeper to draw thick fabric over the entrance of her store.“Oh Yuuri,” he sang, dropping the smile, “so rude today—abandoning me as I try a gift! And now I’ve come back with more treasures and you’re rude again?”

 

Yuuri stepped back, noticing all the bags hanging from Viktor's arms. “This is all for me? All of them?”

 

“Yes, of course!”

 

“But, but!” Yuuri grabbed at the bags, pulling them from Viktor’s arms and prying them open. Three white shirts. Two scarves. A leather belt. Ear muffs. “You’re buying me the suit and all of this? This is all for me?” 

 

Viktor tilted his head. “Who else did you think I was buying for?”

 

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said, “friends… family?”

 

Viktor looked at the bags and then at Yuuri and then to the bags again. It took scant seconds. Long enough for the ghost of Viktor to flit through Yuuri's mind. "I remember this," he had said to Yuuri, red and embarrassed that Viktor had found his stash of laminated interviews. He had held up one to the light and pressed a finger against the title. "They wanted it to be ‘On and Off the Ice’, but there wasn’t enough material off the ice.”

 

Viktor's hair was longer now. He was dressed in business casual. He still looked like the Viktor four months ago, yet unknown to the shape of Yuuri's mouth.

 

Yuuri was bad at this. He was bad at whatever there was hovering between him and Viktor. He was bad at being a student. He was bad at being a friend. It was a miracle that everyone in his life stuck around as long as they did. Yuuri didn’t deserve them or Viktor, but he could try.

 

He swallowed and pulled out the ear muffs, “Axel loves these, even if it never gets cold in Hasetsu, it’s ‘her style’. She can have these.” Yuuri licked his lips, placed the ear muffs back, and pulled out a scarf that was shaded in rich gold, “This is light enough for Mari to wear as a headscarf, but it also matches Yuuko’s eyes, and you can give the blue one to  Takeshi so they can match.” Yuuri couldn’t think of anyone else the shirts could go to, he’d talk to Viktor about it later. “You’ll have to find something for the other girls and Minako-sensei. Maybe we can pass by a store for Chinese snacks for the ramen cook who keeps giving you free stuff. And I’m sure there’s something here for Yurio and—”

 

Yuuri braved a glance back up. Viktor was still silent, so Yuuri closed the bags and pulled them off of Viktor's arms, bearing them himself.

 

“Oh Yuuri,” Viktor said before he leapt forward and wrapped himself around him. “Thank you, I shouldn’t have forgotten everyone else.” Yuuri let himself be held, even if between the crush of the plastic and Viktor’s weight, he was being touched all over and his skin was crawling with sensation. 

 

He had gotten so much better at letting Viktor touch him.

 

“I still want to buy you stuff, though,” Viktor whispered, “I like buying you stuff.”

 

Yuuri was also getting better at reading between what Viktor was saying, so he reached back, dragging his hand over the expanse of Viktor’s back, feeling how relaxed those muscles were, and then dragging it up to cradle around his neck.

 

He breathed. 

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m surprised you took me here,” Yuuri said. Viktor had pulled him into a store that only sold button-up shirts and Yuuri was pushing plastic-wrapped shirt after plastic-wrapped shirt along the racks, trying to figure out what differentiated the first from the second to the thirty-ninth. 

 

Viktor held up two shirts and the storekeeper came over to pull them from the wrapping. “What did you think?” he asked, “that I’d take you to the Beijing Zoo?”

 

Yuuri winced. He had competed in Beijing two years ago and remembered, mid-Banquet, that he had to bring souvenirs back to his friends at university. Cao Bin’s wife had overheard and volunteered to take him to the best place for souvenir shopping.

 

Yuuri had stepped into the seven-story Zoo and contained his sheer terror at all the sound and bustle until the third floor. Somewhere, as Fangyue was arguing over the quality of a qipao Yuuri could send to Yuuko, Yuuri had broken into shakes.

 

They spent the rest of the morning in the actual zoo across the street where Fangyue pretended Yuuri hadn’t been on the verge of a panic attack. 

 

“Besides, Ms. Guo came highly recommended _and_ was willing to do a rush job. What do you think, Yuuri?” Viktor held up two shirts. “The cream or the ivory?”

 

Viktor and the storekeeper were looking at him, so Yuuri squinted, reaching for one of the shirts. _What color is this?_ He swore it looked the exact same color as the other one. “The ivory.”

 

Viktor snatched the shirt out of Yuuri’s hands and gave it back to the storekeeper, who put it back in the plastic. His smile was as wide as his face when he gave Yuuri the—apparently—ivory-colored shirt. This was ridiculous, all of this was ridiculous.

 

“I mean,” Yuuri said, “why are we here instead of some ridiculous designer store?”

 

“Yuu~ri. Are you insulting the quality of this fine establishment?” 

 

“What? No!”

 

“Good!” Viktor held out a wad of red-colored bills to the shopkeeper, who handed over a bag with soft blue tissue paper peaking out. Yuuri frowned, watching as the shopkeeper pocketed the bills.

 

“Time to go, Yuuri!” Viktor’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, guiding Yuuri out of the store. Yuuri waited until he heard the soft swoosh of the cloth door falling before he pried Viktor’s arm off him.

 

“Did you even bargain?” Yuuri asked, “you’re supposed to bargain here. None of these clothes actually have prices.”

 

Viktor tilted his head. “There was a price,” he said, “she typed it out on a calculator.”

 

“The prices they give you are a suggestion. A bad suggestion.”

 

Yuuri stared at Viktor for a while, and then—

 

“700 RMB.”

 

 _Oh no_. _1 yuan is equal to._

 

Yuuri grabbed for his cell phone. There was a calculator app on there, maybe if the number was written out, Viktor could appreciate how much money he dropped on a _white_ shirt.

 

“Don’t be like that, Yuu~ri~” Yuuri wasn’t listening, his fingers were racing over the screen. “This is why I can’t take you to Gucci, you’d probably have a heart attack over those prices if you care about—” 

 

_11,200_

 

“11,200 yen.” 

 

“And how much will the suit cost?”

 

* * *

 

After Viktor said for the third time that Yuuri couldn’t pay for the suit, Yuuri found himself talking about buying Viktor a gift. Viktor went starry-eyed immediately and clung to Yuuri halfway through a strip of stores, speculating on the gift and assuring Yuuri he would love it. It was all rather distracting. So Yuuri led Viktor through the maze until they walked back to a hallway with beautiful wool scarves hanging from the walls. Yuuri only narrowly managed to ditch Viktor in that mass of color, screaming behind that they would meet outside later for lunch.

 

“What do I get him?”

 

Yuuri pressed a button on a plastic poodle and watched as it tottered into a wall. It reared back and then toppled forward and then did it all again. Viktor would like it, but it seemed so superficial. Out of the corner of his eyes, Yuuri could see a middle-aged man approach with a greased-up smile. _I can get this in Hasetsu,_ Yuuri decided, clambering after the poodle and switching it off. _For a quarter of what they’ll charge me_. 

 

Yuuri turned towards an area with clothing and distracted himself with the feel of sweaters in a store with no seller. How much money did he want to spend on Viktor’s gift? Yuuri didn’t have much Chinese currency left, didn’t feel inclined to pay the fees to withdraw and exchange Japanese yen, and saw no need to use his one credit card. But Viktor fully intended on buying Yuuri tens of thousands of yen’s worth of clothing.

 

“He shouldn’t even have to buy me a suit,” Yuuri reminded himself. He would not let his bank account drop just because of how still and silent Viktor stood when asked who he shopped for.

 

“Remember the tie,” Yuuri said. Wasn’t he a sight? Walking around, muttering to himself in Japanese. But his tie was gone, reduced to ashes, because it, too, was aspirational, “that was your favorite tie.”

 

“You want a tie?”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri met Viktor again at the entrance, purchase swinging from his wrist.

 

“Is that my gift?” Viktor asked. Yuuri nodded, shoving the bag behind him, but Viktor leapt across the distance between them, peering over Yuuri’s shoulder at the innocuous yellow bag.

 

“Awww, Yuuri, I’ll love whatever it is and cherish it forever!”

 

“But will you display it?” Yuuri asked, “Proudly?”

 

Viktor drew back, pursed his lips, and scanned Yuuri’s face. “Yes,” he said, “I’ll let the entire world that Katsuki Yuuri gave me the best gift in the world.”

 

Yuuri smiled and drew Viktor to the bright sunshine of the outside.

 

* * *

 

“ _Oh_ , this is absolutely perfect! Sublime!”

 

Viktor spent the next few minutes throwing several adjectives towards the seamstress. Leant against the wall, she observed Yuuri under hooded eyes and a haze of smoke, triumphant.

 

From his position on the dais, Yuuri pulled at the edge of his suit jacket. “Isn’t this too tight?” he asked, aware of how the fabric of the jacket pulled against his back when he moved his arms. “How can I even move with this thing on?” 

 

“That’s the point, Yuuri. A suit is supposed to show off the lines of your body.” Viktor dug through one of his packages and pulled out a rich amber tie. He smiled at Yuuri and Yuuri bent down for Viktor to tie it on him. “There! Complete! A tie should be good and fat, Yuuri, not skinny.”

 

The seamstress nodded. Fashion was a lingua franca.

 

Bereft of a common tongue, Yuuri hopped off the dais and picked up his yellow bag, digging inside for the soft paper bag inside. “I think it’s time for me to give you my gift.”

 

Viktor stood up straight and attached himself at Yuuri’s side. “I’ll love it,” he whispered into Yuuri’s ear, “I’ll treasure it forever.”

 

“And you’ll wear it proudly.”

 

“And I’ll wear it proudly.” Viktor detached himself from Yuuri and shoved a phone into the seamstress’s hands. “I want a photo of this.”

 

Yuuri relished Viktor’s expression when Yuuri presented him a skinny, pale blue tie. “You said you’ll wear it proudly,” Yuuri reminded him as his fingers fumbled their way into tying it around Viktor’s neck, “for everyone to see.”

 

Viktor swallowed when they heard the shutter of his phone. 

 

“There,” Yuuri said, tugging the tie into place. Viktor looked at him sadly. He patted Viktor’s chest and smiled, dragging his eyes up from the blue of the tie to the blue of Viktor’s eyes. Perfect blue. A perfect match. 

 

The woman tapped Yuuri on his shoulder and Yuuri grabbed the phone from her hands. The photo was hideous, Yuuri laughed as he turned the screen around for Viktor to see.

 

“A reminder: you don’t need to burn my stuff to buy me stuff.”

 

“But I can still buy you stuff?”

 

Viktor’s voice was low and soft and vulnerable. 

 

(Yuuri didn’t know this, but Viktor was learning how to be soft and vulnerable around Yuuri. It was easier than learning how to skate.)

 

“Yes.”

 

How could Yuuri help himself? He was overcome. He was tired of living in passive voice: Yuuri wrapped his hand in the tie and tugged Viktor down to a kiss.

 

They didn’t hear the shutter click of the seamstress’s phone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“#KissorHug was obnoxious. It was obvious to everyone there it was a kiss.”

 

“But, but, _but_ you should have waited for a week! Fan the flames with silence! Watch the war develop! Just bros being bros! Or gays being gay!”

 

“It would have been beautiful, Yuuri, to have unleashed a couple announcement photo as the definitive blow against everyone who wouldn’t dare believe that Viktor Nikiforov was whipped by Katsuki Yuuri!”

 

"I would have been an extraordinary photographer of such a photo. I come highly recommended!"

 

“But to be pre-empted by someone with a WeChat account? _For shame_! All of China knew before I did!”

 

“But at least that photo was great! A+ photography! Asians do it best!”

 

“And whoa! I didn’t know you were into tying Viktor! You should have told me, I could have helped you with that!”

 

“Yuuri? Yuuri? _Yuuri!_ ”

 

* * *

 


End file.
